3515 






A Ring of Rhymes 



AND 



Short Stories 



f^V t^* (^* 



BY 



Charlec Hv Garner 







TMro Ooules Rec«9)ve<] 
AUG 15 1904 
i;^ ©«iwl«ht Entry 

OtASS ^ XX«- No. 



/ OOPY 



B 



COPYRIGHT. 1904 

By charlee h. garner. 



IFntroDuction* 



IT IS a pleasant duty to serve or say a word in commend- 
ation of one of my beloved Southern women. No coun- 
try has ever produced more patriotic daughters than 
the South; none more attached to the land of their birth 
with its lavish gifts from nature; none who when occasion 
demanded have risen to higher ideals of devotion and 
courage; none who have shown more fortitude, endured 
more sacrifices or displayed more submission to the decrees 
of an all-wise Providence; none who were ever greater 
helpmeets to their men — and with all their noble traits of 
character, none whose lives have more pointedly empha- 
sized Christian faith as the solution of every problem. This 
booklet of short poems and stories, is a collection 
that has appeared at intervals from the brain and pen of 
Miss Charlee Helen Garnet, native of Mobile, Ala., 
now of Mississippi. It has been my privilege to 
know her from childhood and to recognize in her 
writings, that she is a true product of our South- 
land. She clings with passionate devotion to the tradi- 
tions of the South, and to the memory of the men and 
women who have made its history. Her versatility in de- 
picting her moods of sunshine and shadows, accompanied 
with her beautiful picturing of nature, as emblematic of 
our lovely climate and soil, is very attractive and sweet. 
There is not an effusion, that does not breathe purity, re- 
finement and faith in God, all tending to elevate and in- 
spire the reader to the plane of the best elements of our 
human nature, and invites a firmer reliance on our Heaven- 
ly Father. 

While the little poems and stories are short, they all 
bring out something that pleases and elevates, and the or- 



Introduction. 

iginality of the measure of some of her verses is quite note- 
worthy, the rhythm of the lines fitting the thought im- 
pulse — I might note several instances as suggestive of 
them all. "A Day Like this" is a beautiful word painting 
of so many of the days of the South, and must charm any 
one who has been touched by such Summer Days. "La Fille 
du Sud" is a sweet poem of sentiment, so varied, so true 
in depicting how a Southern man regards the treasure of 
womanhood as it is enshrined in his heart. 

"Assurance" is a poem that brings out the Christian 
faith of the author and tends to point one to the only source 
of comfort in timB of distress and trouble. 

I might select others of the many little poems and stories 
as suggestive of the tone and value of them all. 

I recommend the dainty booklet as one of real merit and 
beauty and it will give pleasure and comfort to any reader. 

STEPHEN D. LEE. 



Inber. 



POEMS. 

An Invocation 7 

Lines to Mother 8 

A Day Like This 9 

Tempora Mutantur 10 

To My Love 11 

De Profundis 13 

Youth 13 

Over to Jim's : 14 

La Fille du Sud 15 

Tired Children 16 

To a Child 17 

Picnicin' 18 

Sunshine 'Yend the Sky 19 

Two Heroes 20 

Kadesh Barnea • 21 

The Time is May 22 

Easter Refrain • 23 

Lulllaby 24 

Left 25 

My Sweetheart Still 26 

A Little Puritan 27 

In Dixie 28 

Jealousy 29 

My Lady 30 

Sea Drift 31 

Assurance • 32 

A Sonnet 33 

EARLIER POEMS. 

Her Answer 37 

To-Day • 39 

A Fantasy 40 

SHORT STORIES. 

Stonewall 45 

The Man Who Hesitated ,. . 48 

Their Saving Corps 52 

In the Valley of Paneden 55 



TO MY 

BELOVED MOTHER 

WHO IS 

My counselor, COMFORTER AND 
INSPIRATION 



Hn iFnvocation. 



Lead me, Father, on the way. 

Step by step. 
Lest I faltering go astray. 

Step by step. 

Take my unskilled hand in Thine, 

Day by day. 
Lest it mar a plan divine. 

Day by day. 

Teach my lips to honor Thee, 

Word by word. 
Lest they question God's decree. 

Word by word. 

Let my eyes Thy wisdom read. 

Hour by hour. 
Lest they follow truant lead. 

Hour by hour. 

Let my heart Thy solace know. 

Throb by throb. 
Lest it harden with life's woe. 

Throb by throb. 

Teach my soul on love to rise. 

Height by height — 
To win thai: world of brighter skies. 

Height by height. 



A Ring of Rhymes and Short Stories, 



ILines to fiDotber. 



My mother, it was she who gave 

Me life, and smiles, and fondest love 
That fell in hallowed kisses, pure, 

Baptisms from God's fount above. 
That fair and sweet young mother face 

A universe of sunshine beamed, 
When bending o'er my baby brow 

An angel from God's throne she seemed. 
Those smiling lips no painter's brush 

Can reproduce as childhood saw — 
Those yearning, earnest, speaking eyes 

That won the infant heart, taught law 
And will more strong than baby's whim, 

The while they spoke in glances mild. 
And tender, true devotion bound 

In folded, fond caress, the child. 
No starry firmament beyond 

That mother's longing, liquid eyes; 
No sunshine, save her golden hair. 

That made the light of baby skies. 

Oh, mystical, eternal love 

Which mother gives — for even life, 

A holy, hallowed sacrifice, 

She would have yielded in the strife 

Of that great mystery when the wings 

Of love brought down to earth a soul. 

My Mother! Mother! With the word 

All that is noblest, purest, best. 

Responds in heart and soul and mind, 

Enkindling in the awakened breast 

A worship of Divinity — 

And love toward all humanity. 

'Twas she, since to her life I owe. 
Who gave me hope to worthy prove 
Heir to that second, better life. 
Where all is peace and light and love. 



A Ring of Rhymes and Short Stories, 9 



H 2)ai? Xike ZbXQ. 



'Tis beautiful to live! 
'Tis ecstasy — 

A day like this! 
The sun smiles clear, 
The birds sing cheer. 
And flowers appear: 
'Tis ecstasy — 

A day like this! 

*Tis easy to forgive; 
'Tis happiness — 

A day like this! 
Sin's reign is brief, 
Love brings relief, 
There is no grief: 
'Tis happiness — 

A day like this! 

Just to exist, to be, 
'Tis joyousness — 

A day like this! 
On hill or dell. 
In magic spell 
One seems to dwell: 
'Tis joyousness — 

A day like this! 

'Tis blessedness to love! 
'Tis rapturous, 

A day like this! 
And peace we find. 
For man is kind. 
With love divine: 
'Tis rapturous, 

A day like this! 



10 A Ring of Rhymes and Short Stories, 



tempera flDutantur. 



Now is thy day. No tears can bring again 
The lost, the thing that might have been thy gain. 
Today has marked a change since yesterday. 
The season's courses show a world transformed 
Goals, Destinies and lives are gained or lost: 
If thy small vision is to thee unchanged, 
'Tis thine own narrowness that makes it so. 
The grave has closed o'er young and old alike. 
The world has opened unto lives new-born; 
Sinew and soul have met opposing strength. 
And grown more strong, or broken with the test. 
The world around, and man, awake each morn 
With new lines written from the day before, 
And what men leave unwritten, and miswrite. 
Must call for judgment in that Day to come. 
For thee thy part is, henceforth, strong in faith 
To take the chance afforded of each day; 

God gives it thee 

The pattern thou hast failed to weave is marred: 

In God's economy the broken threads 

Will all be woven by more faithful hands 

Into some vast design which He hath planned; 

So the original design, thy task. 

Is changed, not lost, though thy reward is lost. 



A Ring of Rhymes and Short Stories. 11 



^0 fiDi? %ove. 



I dreamed o'er thy letter last night, love. 
With rapture held close to my heart, love. 
The passionate words that were sent, love. 
Aglow with fond kisses for me. 

Each word is a beautiful vow, love, 
A pearl to wear next to my throat, love, 
A rose to press near to my check, love. 
That crimsons with blushes for thee. 

If thy heart could know all my heart, love. 
With all that its wild throbbings tell, love. 
Thou would'st hear a sweet music born, love — 
Sweet concord of thy soul with mine. 

E'en after my warm lips are cold, love. 
And quiet the rush of swift veins, love. 
My soul with its hopes shall be thine, love. 
Through time, through eternity — all, love. 



12 A Ring of Rhymes and Short Stories, 



2)e profunM0. 



Out of the depths my soul makes moan, 

Out of the depths, and all alone, 

Into the world of cold and cut. 

Where the doors of charity seem close shut. 

Out from the depths no answer comes 
Where silence chills, and night benumbs. 
My soul that pants for God and light. 
And day to dawn, on its starless night. 

Out of the depths, with cry of pain. 
Up toward the stars, listens again 
To catch a sound, some answering soul 
That chants like mine own, its song of dole. 

But, through the depths a sound is heard 
More sweet than harp or song of bird, 
That still small voice that answers all 
The heart and soul in its infinite call. 



A Ring of Rhymes and Short Stories. 13 



l^outb* 



Youth! Youth r 

Beautiful youth! 
Shy as love and pure as truth, 

Whence chanced this way? 

Wilt long delay, 
Beautiful, beautiful youth? 

Youth! Youth! 

Radiant youth! 
Glad and gay and fair, forsooth. 

How long to stay? 

Wilt swift away. 
Radiant, radiant youth? 

Youth! Youth! 

Vanishing youth! 
Pausing fond with tender ruth, 

Must thou give way 

To fuller day, 
Vanishing, vanishing youth? 



14 A Ring of Rhymes and Short Stones. 



®ver to 3im'0* 

(C. S. F. to J. D.) 



What happiness — ^joy — 
There is for a boy, 

Over to Jim's. 

What romping and fun, 
What sport with toy guns, 
Over to Jim's. 

A-down in the lane 
On stick horse and cane, 
Over to Jim's. 

We make lots of noise, , 
We girls and we boys. 
Over to Jim's. 

On fences we ride. 
In hay stacks we hide, 
Over to Jim's. 

Fine mud-pies we make. 
Swap biscuits and cake. 
Over to Jim's. 

We see-saw till late. 
And swing on the gate. 
Over to Jim's. 

Oh, happiness — joy — 
For girl and for boy. 
Over to Jim's! 



A Ring of Rhymes and Short Stones. 15 

Xa ifille 2)u SuD. 



Wouldst thou meet her, 

Wouldst thou greet her, 

Wouldst thou give thy life to win her. 

She who dwells in southern sunlight. 

Dreams in nights of mellow moonbeams, 

In the home of love secluded, 

'Mid magnolia, fragrant flowers. 

And sweet honeysuckle bowers — 

She who breathes their breath of blossoms, 

She who carols with the songbirds. 

She whose heart is taught of nature, 

While her soul a light from heaven. 

Shines, as star of hope, resplendent? 

Wouldst thou woo her, 

Wouldst thou win her? 

She the fairest of fair daughters 

In the land of limpid waters. 

In the land of love and laughter. 

In the land of mirth and music, 

In the land or rarest roses. 

In the land of peace and plenty; 

She who dwells in southern borders, 

She who sings the song of heroes. 

Lights their way with faith and courage, 

She the daughter of the southland. 

She the cherished child of patriots. 

Thou must come with high hope feather. 
Plume of chivalry and daring, 
Man of deeds, as words, of honor; 
Thou must come o'er paths of straightness, 
(Swift and sure as line of arrow). 
Free from bramble-bush of briar; 
Come with eyes of truth as morning. 
Voice as clear as bells in winter. 
Faith as firm as rock of mountains, 
S6ul as true as pole and needle. 
Ere we give to thee our daughter, 
Lovliest of all lovely women, 
God's creation next to angels. 



16 A Ring of Rhymes and Short Stories. 



Z\xzt> CbUt)ren, 



Dear Dod, I's so tired and sleepy 
I dess want to west where I am 

I 'spec rs been naughty and noisy — 
So 'spec Fs your ugly black lamb. 

But Dod, please forgive me, for mama 
Says she will — so you will please, too, 

Ts tired — dood night; and Dod bless you 
Yourself Dod — you know how to do. 

Oh, God I — I too, am so weary 

So vexed — and the vortex of strife 

Overwhelms me, and sinning and sorrow 
Make me weary, weary of life. 

And I come. Lord. Take me dear Father, 
I come — like a broken winged dove — 

Thou wilt Lord forgive me and pardon! 
Enfold me about with thy love. 



A Ring of Rhymes and Short Stories. 17 



(H. D. G.) 



Wide-eyed child! Thy quick surprise 

At Nature's opening wonders, 

Fortells long years of questioning thoughts 

That halt at seeming blunders. 

But know, dear child, that mysteries dim 
Have answers, written plainly 
Upon Hereafter's hidden page. 
For which, we seek here, vainly. 

God bless thee, child, and teach thine eyes 
By faith, to trust the morrow 
To Him, who fashioned all the worlds, 
And bought with death our sorrow. 



18 A Ring of Rhymes and Short Stories, 



jpicnicin*. 



Sparkin' in the sunshine — 
Underne'th the trees — 
At the sultry noontide — 
Fanned by ev'nin* breeze. 

Chirpin' like the crickets; 
Laughin' like the stream; 
Callin' life a picnic. 
Or, some happy dream. 
Dancin* on the green grass; 
Flirtin' like the leaves; 
Cooin' like the love dove, 
Underneath the eaves. 
Singin' merry May songs; 
Eatin' pies and cake, 
An' the apple juices, 
Such as yeo' folk make. 
Scram'lin in the wagin, 
When the day is done; 
Ev'ry one is happy. 
Each has had his fun. 



Dreamin' in the future; 
Breathin* forth a sigh; 
Thinkin' on the good times 
Of the days gone by. 



A Ring of Rhymes and Short Stories. 19 



Sun0binc 'l?ent) tbe Shi?< 

(in the north CAROLINA MOUNTAINS.) 



In the lowlands thar are tears 
An' the world's upsot with fears, 
For t'other folks 'sides we-uns 
On the hills. 

An' a hurt of every kind 
In the lowlands they'll find. 
For hit's no more easy livin' 

Than the hills. 

Thar the folk, for all what seems. 
Do not al'ays live In dreams; 
They are restless over yender 
Down the hills. 

They don't hide it, though they try, 
With a smile smoothed o'er a sigh; 
Life is life, whar' e'er ye find it, 
'Yend or here. 

Thar may be ups with our-ens. 
An' downs o'er thar with you-ens — 
But thar's smile and song and sunshine — 
'Yend the sky. 



20 A Ring of Rhymes and Short Stories. 



tCwo Iberoee. 



And one was great. 

And both were good; 

For each had done his part 

One blessed of fate, 

One toiled for food. 

But each had gained a heart. 

One knew of wars. 

One tasted toil; 

Each did his duty well. 

One gained a cause. 

One tilled the soil; 

Each took whatever befell. 

And both were wept, 
And both were sung. 
Each by a woman fair; 
In death both slept, 
While hearts were wrung 
And left to griefs despair. 



A Ring of Rhymes and Short Stories. 21 



Ikabesb Barnea* 



Oh! well for the man who has lived by faith. 
In the light of a life revealed, 

Who has had before him the way made plain. 
With each day a new page unsealed. 

Oh! blessed the calm of the seaman lone 
Who's never been brought to decide 

Among the wild billows of ocean's crest 
Which wave he should take on the tide. 

But woe to the fate of the stricken soul 
Who dimly discerns which to take, 

If, too weak of faith, or too wan of hope. 
In choosing has made a mistake. 

Though a tender father will pity him, 

Becalming life's storms, with their fear, 

Like Israel, he'll wander Arabi's sands 
Who wavered at Kadesh Barnea. 

And a shipwrecked life at the best is his. 

Or a sun eclipsed in its light; 
A plan unfinished, a song left unsung. 

Or a star swung loose in the night. 



22 A Ring of Rhymes and Short Stories. 



Zl)c ZCfme Ha fiDai?/ 



'Tis a bright and buoyant day, 

And the time is May; 
And the crickets and the hoppergrass make cheer; 
And the rillets sing, 
And the birdlets wing, 
In the showery, in the flowery time of Spring. 

'Tis a clear and cloudless day, 

And the time is May; 
And the buttercups and daffodils are here; 
And the cows stand still. 
In streams by the mill. 
In the merry, in the cherry time of Spring. 

*Tis a glad and gleeful day. 

And the time is May; 
And the children, and the young things everywhere. 
With sport and with glee 
Find life gay and free. 
In the youthful, in the truthful time of Spring. 

'Tis a rare and restful day, 

And the time is May; 
And our new-made plans and good resolves bloom fair, 
With the new page turned. 
With the kind word learned. 
In the smiling and beguiling time of Spring. 



A Ring of Rhymes and Short Stories, 23 



"Love worketh no evil to his neighbor. — ^Rom. 13-10. 

leaster IRefrain* 



How cold and cruel men are still. 
How fraudulent of way and will. 
How evil tongues belie the just. 
To bring the noble to the dust — 
And yet Christ died! 

The marts of men are warped with cheat. 
Where good men meet with wide defeat; 
Deceit and deep injustice rules, 
"WSse men are thrust aside by fools — 
And yet Christ died! 

Unkindness and unmeasured hates 
Oe'r-ride fair justice, and estates 
Of potentaes and powers are bought. 
Where double-dealings foul are wrought — 
And yet Christ died! 

O, men! O, Times! O, Customs! When 
Learn Calvary lesson, brought to men; 
That life is gained by sacrifice. 
The world redeemed by matchless price, 
When our Christ died! 

The pains of hate even now abate. 
For love and joy wait at the gate; 
Good will on earth and peace are here. 
Proclaim the tidings far and near — 
Because Christ lives! 



24 A Ring of Rhymes and Short Stories. 



XuIlaD^. 



There's a song in my heart 

Little dear, 
'Tis ever of thee, never fear, 
'Tis of thee and thy beauty 
Thy worship, thy duty, 
Of thee and thy future, 

My dear. 

There's a song in my heart 

Little dear. 
Where ever thou art, far or near. 
Of thy tear or thy laughter 
Oft long, I sing after 
I leave thee my dainty, 

My dear. 

There's a song in my heart 

Little dear. 
Dispelling each thought that is drear, 
For thine eyes that are merry 
And lips that are cherry 
Smile sunshine and gladness. 

My dear. 

And when the day's done 

Little dear, 
I'll be by thy side ever near 
To sing glad with emotion 
My heart's true devotion 
That thou art my darling. 

My dear. 



A Ring of Rhymes and Short Stories. 26 



OLeft. 



We were to part. I with a throbbing heart 
Uttered my sad farewell, but her's, ah me! 

She whispered with a brightness and a lightness like the 
air 

Which round her swelled. 

I took her hand. I pressed it to my lips, 

Then to my heart. 'Twas promised long to me, 

She deigned me not a pressure from the treasure of the 
fair 

Soft hand I held. 
My eyes sought her's. Filled with a pleading love 
They meant to ask her why this coolness was. 
She hid from me the blueness and the trueness of the eye 
With lids downcast. 

Ah fate! my lips, that formed themselves to kiss. 
Were dumb, transfixed, when she with trembling said 
That she had wed an older and a bolder lad than I 
A short time past. 



26 A Ring of Rhymes and Short Stories. 



flD^ Sweetbeart St(U» 



There was a maid in the summer tide 

In the youth time of long ago, 
With cheeks like sea shells, pink and bright 
Her hair was of golden, graceful flow, 

My pretty maid of the long ago. 

Her laugh was music like rippling rills, 

In the springtime of long ago. 
Her step had grace of swaying boughs. 
Her brow like lilies; lips red rose glow; 

That dainty maid in the long ago. 

Her soul is pure as the crystals clear 

Of the winters since long ago. 
Her words are true as sacred texts. 
Her heart is young, though her hair's like snow 

My sweetheart still since the long ago. 



A Ring of Rhymes and Short Stories. 27 



H Xittle ipuritan. 



She was a maiden puritan 

With notions staid and wise; 

She could not speak till spoken to — 
Prudent, no one denies. 

She could not gaze at passers by. 
If those who passed were men, 

Nor speak to serenading corps, 

From window — Grods forefend! 

Allow a lover hold her hand 

Was what no maid should do. 

And such a thing as kiss unwed 
Was conduct most untrue. 

The maiden conned the anxioms o*er; 

He whispered at her side: 
"Each is a bit of prejudice" — 

She threw each "bit" aside. 



28 A Ring of Rhymes and Short Stories. 



Iln Dixie. 



Only honey suckle — 

'Tis the sweetest flower that grows 
Save the jasmine and magnolia 

And the fragrant garden rose. 

No time, but the springtime 

When the wide worlds note is love, 
With the robin and the blue jay. 

And the mocking bird and dove. 

No where but the Southland 

With its pines and cypress glades 
Groves of orange and pomegranate 

And its oleander shades 

No one but my sweetheart 
With her lily beauty rare. 

Where the women are the fairest 
And where heroes do and dare. 



A Ring of Rhymes and Short Stories. 29 



3ealou0i5. 



She is blithe and she is bonny — 

But not I; 
She is fair of face and dark of hair — 

Not I; 
She has music on the lip. 
She with grace doth dances trip, 
She is fair as any fairy — 

But not I. 

Hers is the smile to bring him pleasure — 

And not mine, 
Hers the ring of gold and small he wears, 

Not mine; 
Hers the tresses he doth press, • 
Hers the frown to bring distress. 
Hers the image he doth worship — 

And not mine. 

Mine the voice he'll miss when silent — 

And not hers; 
Mine the waiting word and patient care — 

Not hers; 
Mine the toil to save him pain. 
Mine the suffering for his gain. 
Mine the love he'll seek, in sorrow. 

And not hers. 



30 A Ring of Rhymes and Short Stories. 



My lady kissed the flower I gave, 
And smiling danced away, 

My jealous eyes glanced after her 
To read what love might say. 

As cards, she played her hand with care. 
With arts triumphant skill. 

When leading, she would call the game — 
Chanced it her gracious will. 

I knew not then, I saw it soon. 

She played a double role. 
In artful zest, she lead her best 

Her partner to control. 

But she was bright and she was fair. 
And blithe, and young and gay — 

With wiles of feigned innocence 
She seemed a child at play. 

There comes a time the mask will fall. 
When cards return no lead. 

When hearts will wither in the glance 
Which meant that heart to bleed. 

The flower faded in my view. 
Love died within my heart, 

As nature's smiling child had proved 
A flirt with practical art. 



Fm told the lady's art is changed. 

That every evening hour 
The lady kneels and tells her beads 

Over a faded flower. 

She mourns the light of vanished love 

Of times in long ago. 
When hearts and hopes were young and fair, 

In times of long ago. 



A Ring of Rhymes and Short Stories, 31 



Sea IDrift, 



Dost thou remember love, the languid bay — 
Set round with lithe sea reeds, and white sea sand — 
Where naught but silver ripples swept the shore — 
Where in that summer, silvered now with years. 
The moon in silent splendor wrapt the world 
With phosphorescent miracles of light? 
And tides bore out our hopes for future times 
And breezes whispered mysteries from the deep. 
And sea shells sang love's long melodious lay. 

The music all these years dost thou recall? 
The thrall of sense? — ^the acquiescent drift 
Upon the tide where youth and hope and love 
Made up the mystic sea where on we sailed? 

And dost thou wish them back to live them o'er 
Those days of roseate sky, in somnolent clime 
Where day dreams passed as summer clouds away? 

Or art contended on the slope of time 
With retrospective joy? Or calms't the cry 
Of soul — ^unsatisfied — with new dreamed dreams 
That some day rapturous awakening 
Shall find fulfilled the wish of all the heart? 



32 A Ring of Rhymes and Short Stories: 



Heeurance. 



If storms or wind or avalanche of woes 
Shall sweep my soul to bend and test. 

If sunshine soft insures repose 

All comes of God, He knows what's best. 

If called to climb some solitary steep 

Cloud capped, where none but God can hear — 

Or sent in marts where vice is deep, 

God's saving strength shall stay me there. 

No new untrodden path of pain shall be, 

No bright beatific vision mine. 
But He hath tested first for me. 

And set His seal of love Divine. 

When crush of worlds and times alarm shall sound 
No harm shall wreck my soul in space. 

Alpha, Omega — very God 

Vouchsafes a meeting face to face. — 



A. Ring of Rhymes and Short Stories. 33 



H Sonnet 



From Eternity, to Eternity, 

Swift sails life's ship, through time to some strange 
land, 
It rides emotion's high seas to the strand 

Where die desires, as tossed foam from the sea. 
The sails by gales are torn, by zephyrs fanned. 

And mercy's sun dispells the agony 
Of storm lashed waves, while faith steers to the land — 

That vast unknown, we call Eternity. 

Tranquil waves, and billows of distress. 

And calms, where waitings long the patience tries, 
Ambitions mirage and hopes rainbow far 

In time will vanish, and a sweet redress 
For having striven will be won. There dies 

No hope, where ships are anchored by Love's morning 
star. 



\ \ 


Earlier poems. 


\\ 



A Ring of Rhymes and Short Stories, 37 

Iber Hnswer. 



Do not speak of such mad loving, Philip, darling; don't you 
know. 

That the truth you now reveal me, does but forge for both 
a woe 

That may wreck a youth's ambition, and enslave a maid- 
en's life, 

While the youth was born for conquest, and the maid an- 
other's wife? 

Philip, darling, don't reproach me by those sad, regret- 
ful words. 

Which, like melted metal sinking or like waves of molten 
surge. 

Falls a cruel weight, thus blighting all my heart so young 
with love. 

Which was made for you, dear Philip, by our Father's hand 
above. 

As a childhood's springtime blessing, to unfold some future 
day 

To that strong and true devotion of a sister's honest way. 

Say not, Philip, dearest Philip, that you had rather young 
have died, 

(When in childhood's Eden innocence, you called me gen- 
tle bride,) 

Closed your eyes upon your idol, sung by her to happy 
dreams. 

Than have waking into manhood, deem her heartless as 
she seems. 

Rather not have known existence, with its blessings and 
its joy. 

Than to see its souls best treasure dashed to shatters as a 
toy. 

But believe this love a fancy, some wild, maddening dream 
of youth. 

Which perhaps will prove unreal by a happier dawn of 
truth; 

And you'll bless the name of Aimee with a different thought 
in prayer, 

And another love you'll find it though the strength of love 
be there. 



38 A Ring of Rhymes and Short Stories, 

I would wrong myself, dear Philip, I would wrong you most 

of all. 
If my heart, against its dictates, seemed to echo to the 

call 
Of a heart that in its throbbing thinks love answers love 

again. 
When in empty echo loving, love but calls to love in vain. 




A Ring of Rhymes and Short Stones. 39 



JLo^Wa^. 



1 Here two happy loyal lovers. 
Bright with hopes have met to-day, 

And their mingled smiles and blushes 
Speak the meaning words would say. 

2 From the chapel wall is pealing 
Glad to-day, the organ's tone, 

Here two paths before divided 
Are united into one. 

3 Dark and still are hall and chamber 
In this mansion here to-day, 

For a soul has dropped its casket 
Wings to Heaven's its joyous way. 

4 Here on field of death and battle 
O'er the slain the victors stand. 

From to-day their names and honor 
Will be sung o'er sea and land. 

5 Here to-day from bar of justice. 
Sentenced unto death, not life 

A prisoner crimson stained and weary 
Bids farewell to child and wife. 

6 Here to-day are joy and brightness. 
For a life is born on earth, 

Human hopes and angel blessings 
Join in gladness at its birth. 

7 Here to-day a gift is given. 
Over which the angels sing. 

Here's a soul from sin departed, 
"Born again" to Christ the King. 



40 A Ring of Rhymes and Short Stories. 



There is no peace for me, my soul, 

Sweet solitude for me there's none. 

Blessed restfulness of mind and heart 

A haunting thought has robbed from me. 

E'en in the silent depths of night. 

As decked for demon dance, thought comes 

And tortures me with wild, wild hope 

To breathe to life my fair young love. 

Then in a maddening mood it leaves 

Me to despair. For she is dead. 

And there is fixed a gulf betwixt 

Her soul and mine. Yet whispering hope 

Says we may meet again on earth, 

As sweetest zephyrs kiss and melt 

The two in one. Be calm, my soul; 

Thou must not strive to free thyself 

And fly thy bonds to her. 'Twill not 

Be long before thy prison chains 

Will loose and fall, and then will seem 

The shackles of a dream. The time 

Will come when thou shalt be to her 

As when our souls were torn apart 

That into one had grown, like blooms, 

Twin blown. Then thou shalt know no law 

But that of holy love, wherein 

To worship her. 

Who says they are 
Dreams fair and false, that move me thus 
To raving; and that she will come 
No more, save like a silver beam 
Strayed from the moon, she'll wander back 
Noiselessly and phantom-like 
To move me with a speechless wealth 
Of light; since souls once freed from earth 
Can not return to us again. 
To this false fiend I cry, "the lie 
Lives in thy foul, inventive brain. 
If tangible thou'rt, and hast one, 
Or, if a demon spirit thou com'st 



A Ring of Rhymes and Short Stories. 41 

Intangible — still dost thou lie." 

O, God, the maker of the moons 

And suns, and stars, and souls, send down 

And tell me as a truth that souls 

Return to meet loved ones on earth 

As in the rapturous world beyond 

They meet. Like as fresh flowers will spring 

Anew each year from self-same roots. 

So from that life that gave and took 

Her spirit, send it back but once— 

That in an ecstacy of love 

My fretted, fevered soul, made glad. 

May fly from earth with her to Heaven. 




\ 


Short Stories. 


\ 



A Ring of Rhymes and Short Stories. 45 



Stonewall. 



For several weeks the regiment had been recruiting near 
C^ — , on the banks of a picturesque stream, in as beauti- 
ful a grove as could be found in all the South. Day after 
day new tents were stretched under the widespreading 
oaks as fresh recruits were mustered in, preparatory to 
Santiago campaign. 

The spirit of war was not slow to stir the hearts of 
the town boys, and captains, lieutenants, hospital ser- 
geants and privates went out from comfortable, curtain- 
draped, carpeted homes to the hardships of camp life with 
the regiment. 

Tom Bancroft, a widowed mother's only son, and great- 
ly indulged — notably, a boy with the boys — decided that 
Uncle Sam needed him more at this time than did the so- 
cial functions that formerly could not move along with- 
out his leadership. Mrs. Bancroft grieved, of course, that 
Tom should go to the war; she remembered the horrors 
experienced during the sixties, when she was a young girl, 
but she also remembered the spirit of heroism and self- 
sacrifice of a young army surgeon of those days who had 
won her heart, and for the sake of his acts of mercy, gave 
consent now that their son should enlist as one of the hos- 
pital corps, with rank of lieutenant. 

Mrs. Bancroft superintended old Mammy Dinah in the 
daily prepartion of delicacies for the sick men and of good 
things for her son, to be sent over to camp; for Tom was 
a connoisseur, and camp fare was hard for his fastidious 
taste. To Aunt Dinah's grandson, George Washington 
Webster Clay Bancroft, was assigned the duty of making 
the pilgrimage with the offerings of thoughtfulness and 
love. Having missed his young master from the house 
the first day, Stonewall Jackson, Lieutenant Tom's dog, 
went out in search of him. Finding that his quarters were 
comfortable and approved by the family, which consisted 
of the mistress. Aunt Dinah, George Washington Webster 



46 A Ring of Rhymes and Short Stories, 

Clay (called "Clay'' for short), Robert E. Lee (the horse), 
besides the lieutenant and himself, Stonewall made two 
daily trips to see him. In the mornings he went from a 
sense of duty, as escort to "Clay" with the basket, and 
again in the afternoon, free from responsibility and on 
pleasure bent, he scampered out to reconnoiter and frolic 
in and around the tents. 

Stonewall was soon friends with the soldiers, wagging 
his tail and barking intelligent greetings to them; as he 
frisked about, nosing and peering into every nook along 
the avenues leading to the grounds. What a busy dog he 
was! He was the self -constituted protector of the prem- 
ises when at home, and when at the camp and his master 
was on duty he would plant his shaggy figure in the tent 
entrance and look as formidable as a mounted guard. 
When the men were off duty Stonewall's chief pleasure 
was to sit by his master among a group of officers, as they 
talked and joked, listening lest there should be a men- 
tion of his own name; and if it chanced that in relating 
incidents where he had figured, and his name was called, 
he would prick up his ears, draw close up to his master's 
knee and lift his nose up to be patted; or else he would 
stretch himself across the lieutenant's feet and lay his 
brown neck out over his paws and sweep the ground vig- 
orously with his tail. 

With almost human intelligence and sympathy he would 
tiptoe around among the cots whereon the sick men lay, 
and would stop to lick the fever-flushed hand that was af- 
fectionally extended him, with no knowledge or fear of mi- 
crobe or germ theories. 

Often Stonewall was pressed into service as letter car- 
rier for the lieutenant and his lady love. The bits of notes, 
tied about the dog's neck, were as safely delivered as if 
they bore the United States special delivery stamp. It 
can not be doubted from his sagacious mien, when acting 
as mail agent, that Stonewall appreciated this variety of 
importance that had come into his life. On such errands 
he dispensed with any detours from the main road, even 
at the solicitation of a canine acquaintance. 

*** 

But Stonewall's happiness came suddenly to an end, 
all in one day. He could not quite understand the mean- 



A Ring of Rhymes and Short Stories. 47 

ing of the confusion — how the tents were taken down and 
the men and luggage transferred to another portion of the 
city, and then borne far out of sight by the great trains. 
At the station Lieutenant Tom patted his head very kindly 
more than once, and opened a box and gave him a morsel 
to eat as he stood on the rear platform of the car. 

Stonewall's mistress seemed downcast, and wept, and 
the lieutenant did not laugh or jest. A great excitement 
followed, of the men hurrying around and of baggage be- 
ing lifted aboard the train. 

Then the cars started, slowly moving away with the 
lieutenant; and the dog bounded forward to follow. Fast 
and faster the train moved before him; fast and faster 
he sped after. Cries and calls were sent after him, but he 
did not heed — on and on, faster and faster, till panting 
and breathless he went down over an embankment. 

Stonewall never could reason it out, why the lieutenant 
had gone, or how he found himself stretched on a blanket, 
all broken up, at the feet of his mistress. 

Days went by, and Stonewall still pondered and quite 
forgot to eat, so absorbed was his canine mind over the 
mystery and so grieved was his faithful heart at the loss 
Of his master. Only one revelation came to him — that he 
was left in charge of his mistress, and so he roused him- 
self, only to follow her footsteps. But no relish for food, 
no joy in his eyes remained. Neighbor's children came to 
play with him, but he gently licked their little hands in 
quiet gratitude, and from the door mat gazed at them with 
melancholy eyes. 

Stonewall was not the only loving heart that grieved 
for the lieutenant, so that not many months later all the 
friends of the family, and of her family, gathered at the 
station to bid farewell and God-speed to a party consisting 
of the lieutenant's mother, who was going over the waters 
to Santiago to see him, accompanied by Stonewall and a 
fair young girl, who held the chain to the dog's collar with 
a ribbon of red, white and blue. 



48 A Ring of Rhymes and Short Stories. 



XTbe flDan Mbo Ibeeitatet). 



Are there any loving, faithful women in the world, Flor- 
ence?" 

"Yes, Tom; the world is full of them." 

"You say there are many"? 

"Certainly," she answered, stirring the fire to a blaze. 

She did not notice that his eyes were bent upon her in 
questioning appeal as he leaned against the mirrored man- 
tle. 

"That is what my uncle said to me years ago, when I 
was quite an ardent youth: "Wait, Tom, wait; the world is 
full of fine, noble women. ' 

"Oh, yes, that is true, of course," she replied, "and there 
are loving, faithful ones. But" — after a moment's gaze 
into the fire — "there is one woman whom you will love 
wholly, and who will love only you. This should be so in 
the experience of every one. Is that what you mean?" 

Perhaps that was what he meant, but he made no com- 
ment, and his silence was interpreted by Florence as indi- 
cating that he wished her to continue. 

"Let me make a personal illustration," she said. "You 
know Hugh and I have never loved any but each other. 
Never can." 

"Until death you do part?" 

"Beyond that. From all time Hugh and I were destined 
for each other," she said enthusiastically, "and if we should 
l)e separated — " 

"You think he would find no other woman in all the 
world," he interrupted, "who could take your place?" 

"That is my belief. Man was appointed not only once to 
die, but once to love." 

"But men do seem to be consoled, even so far as second 
marriage." 

"Yes, that is true, but it is only a make-believe, a reas- 
oning as it were with oneself, a matter of will, I tell you — 
absolutely aside from the heaven-inspired, real love." 

"Florence, I have seen many a blissful second marriage, 
where the first was most unhappy." 



A Ring of Rhymes and Short Stories. 49 

"Then the first was a mistake; the second the one for 
which love should have waited." 

"I know some most miserable, who are bound by the 
holy vows of marriage." 

"They are life's tragedians, the characters who should 
win our heartfelt commiseration and our tears." 

"You speak as one having authority," he said. He 
wondered if she ever suspected that he had always loved 
Katharine Young — would always love her. 

He had called that evening, reasoning with himself that 
he wished Florence to say that he could easily find some 
charming woman of the gay world, whom he could love 
and who would dote upon him. "The world is full of 
them," had been an accepted maxim with him in the days 
when he had confidently imagined many hearts were his 
— among them Katharine's. But he could wait, he re- 
peated to himself, until a future day to declare his passion, 
when fortune and fame were gained. He now felt how 
despicable he had been, how unworthy true affection; and 
he was deeply humilitated at the thought of his blinding 
egotism. He had played fast and loose with affections, 
and realized late that happiness is a gift from 
heaven not lightly to be thrown aside. He saw 
that he had made a great mistake in thinking to ma- 
nipulate time and opportunity as brokers do stocks on Wall 
street. Too late, he felt that both had slipped from him, 
and as a monument of folly upon the highway he stood, 
an object lesson to passers by. He could, indeed, cry out, 
"Beware of false theories, selfish motives and idle dreams; 
hear the voice of one deluded in youth, disappointed in 
manhood, with no consolation for old age!" 

"There is one woman," came as a refrain to take the 
place of "The world is full of them." 

"Yes, one," he repeated to himself, as he recalled the 
many times he had tried to forget Katharine since his first 
wild dash into commercial life in New York. He had per- 
sistently endeavored to reason himself out of a so-called 
fancy, and essayed love affairs that proved unsatisfactory. 
It is true he was much sought after, being regarded as a 
desirable parti and could have married any one of a half- 
dozen belles. But no! here he had returned, the victim of 
foolish egotism, bafiled by fortune, defeated of happiness. 



60 A Ring of Rhymes and Short Stories, 

"You must be very happy, Florence, and you have been 
very sensible." 

Something in his voice brought her quick glance to him, 
and something in his face held it there until it grew to 
be a gaze of questioning surprise. 

"Tom, you have loved— I am convinced." 

Cobwebs were all dissolving in her brain, disclosing 
thoughts that hitherto had been hidden away. Filmy cur- 
tains seemed to rise upon the vista of her imagination 
where beautiful suggestions took lovely forms. 

"You are right," he said, "and I am all wrong. You 
have followed your ideals and convictions. I have tried 
to be the master of my fate. I loved your friend of child- 
hood, Katharine Young, but kept the sacred truth locked 
within my selfish heart, thinking all the while that some 
future time would do, that love could wait. If I could only 
have the consolation now of knowing that she might care 
for me my suffering would be forgotten, and happiness 
such as I do not deserve would bless me.'* 

"You have greatly blundered," said the honest-hearted 
woman, for the moment seeming a bit unmerciful, "and am 
I not right in my theory of love? Could you be quite satis- 
fied with some one else — for all time — all eternity? 

"No, that is why I am what I am to-night, returning with 
a desire in my stricken life to begin thus late and reason 
things out with the blind hope of success. But it is im- 
possible. Life is as we make or mar it. Mine is marred, 
and I shall have to accept it and wait until eternity for a 
hope of change. 

"Good-night, Florence. May God bless you and strength- 
en you to live up to your further convictions." 

The feelings of a woman w^ere sacred in Florence's eyes. 
She had guarded for her friend Katharine the secret that 
Tom's apparent indifference had driven her to an indefinite 
stay on the Continent, where, among new surroundings 
and friends, she hoped to submerge her life and thought 
in art. 

Florence's sense of justice was as great as her fidelity. 
"Tom had erred, Katharine had suffered — so ought he," 
she thought.? 

"But had he not suffered enough? Yes, surely." So 
she hastened into the hall, just in time to detain him as 
he was passing out the front door. 



A Ring of Rhymes and Short Stories, 51 

"Oh, Tom!" she called hurriedly, "I — just a moment — 
a word more, please." 

He turned mechanically, looked at her with a far-away, 
preoccupied expression, and waited for the "word more." 

"Come here," she said, leading the way back to the sit- 
ting room. 

He followed and paused before her, hat in hand, and 
waited. 

"Well — Tom!" she said hesitatingly. 

"Well?" 

"Why don't you begin now and live up to your convic- 
tions?" 

"How?" 

"You have made a mistake, you admit?" 

"True." 

"You love—" 

"Yes, and have always — " 

"Then go and make these confessions to the wom,^n who 
rightly should hear them." 

He looked at her sadly. 

"But I have waited too long. She would laugh me to 
scorn or spurn me." 

"Love never does that — it can not." 

"It is impossible that she — " 

"Do you know?" 

"I believe—" 

"But do you know?" 

"Florence did you bring me back to torture me?" 

"I have always been your friend, and I love Katharine." 

A ray of hope lit his face. 

"Do you think—" 

"Go and ask her!" 

The rainbow arched his heaven. 

1 will," he answered, with a ^lad ring in his voice. 



52 A Ring of Rhymes and Short Stories. 



Zbciv Saving Corpe. 



It was on the evening of the great social event of the 
season — Mabel Golding had just given a final answer to 
the man of all others who loved her most. She was ap- 
plauding herself upon the heroism and self sacrifice of say- 
ing no — finally to the man she loved, in order to accept 
for the sake of family finances, the other man. 

She was experiencing the exaltation of self sacrifice, and 
bearing it majestically with the inner consciousness of 
uplift and misunderstood heroism, as she moved away 
from him into the drawing-room beyond. She paused pre- 
occupied before a table where a folio of Charles Dana Gib- 
son's pictures lay open — mechanically she turned the first 
pages, but there life was so really portrayed that her in- 
ner consciousness began to respond to the truth of the life 
sketches before her "Some Features of the Matrimonial 
Market" held her gaze, truth had struck home. 

As she paused with the picture, her mind's eye ran 
hurriedly from one to the other of the men from whom she 
could now choose. One was lank and tall, noted for a wild 
past, a title and estates; one was stout and short who was 
striving to fol-get, and make others forget his day of small 
beginnings in a side street grocery, now that he was the 
bloated bondholder of fabulous millions; another was a 
scion of one of the first families, who boasted his ancest- 
ry and great expectations by inheritance; while the man 
she had just sent away, although a college graduate, an 
athlete, strong, handsome, possessed of a nobility of char- 
acter, an innate gentleness and courtesy of manner (that 
no woman, except herself, had ever been able to resist), 
had no fortune that he could ofCer. 

The glory of his fine nature and superior qualities shone 
out to her mind now, with additional lustre, as she began 
to experience a growing contempt of the others and posi- 
tive condemnation of herself. She was more than cha- 
grined at the cursory mental glance taken of her remain- 
ing matrimonial prizes, and doubted if she had been alto- 



A Ring of Rhymes and Short Stories. 53 

gether wise in thinking to elect one of them. She sank 
into a chair and turned the pages, "His Everlasting Experi- 
ments With Ill-mated Pairs," brought a positive pain to 
her heart and she experienced a suspicion of unhappiness. 

It was a picture that both fascinated and disturbed her 
mind's peace. Forebodings that some day she might be as 
miserable as those unfortunates whom Cupid finding un- 
equally yoked together was in vain trying to urge forward 
in harmony on the road of life. 

There was no more exaltation left in her spirit; but very 
dejectedly she studied the drawing. 

"One of the men in the matrimonial harness looks like 
George," she thought, and her eyes dilated and lips grew 
White. "He has lines of sorrow in his handsome face — 
there is no longer his bright smile" — and she remembered 
how it had faded when she spoke as final — a moment — a 
century ago." "Poor fellow how miserable he looks," and 
impulsively she buried her head between the leaves of the 
large folio and kissed the lips from whence the smile had 
faded. Then blindly through the prismatic colors of a 
crystal pure tear she glanced at the pictures that follow- 
ed, until she came to one called "Danger. The Shore is 
Lined With Wrecks," before which she again paused fas- 
cinated. 

"Oh, that is myself now, turning from happiness," she 
whispered, "leaving him behind, looking so disconsolate 
and lonely." 

Tears fell upon the sand of the beach, in the picture and 
she shuddered at the dreariness of the landscape. Per- 
haps she was recalling happier days, when she and George 
and Fido, had spent the livelong summer days together on 
just such a beach as this. Then, there was sunshine and 
soft sea breezes and mellow moonlight and song and mu- 
sic and laughter, and no misunderstandings, no heartaches, 
no tears. Again, she was reminded of the present scenes 
and facts, as another tear fell upon the desolate prospect 
before her. How like a beautiful dream her past now 
seemed, the past from which she had crossed by a cruel 
iron bridge of self determination, to a barren, rock ribbed, 
hard life of sacrifice and dumb endurance. 

Even as she gave a longing backward glance over the 
fields on the disappearing side, the sunlight lured with its 
genial warmth. The perfume of forbidden clover bios- 



64 A Ring of Rhymes and Short Stories^ 

soms and sweet wild flowers stirred her senses, the music 
of rippling waters wooed with sparkle and song, calling to 
her heart vibrant with yearning. 

"How like the waste and desolate shore in the picture, 
her real life appeared now. She gazed again at the face 
of the girl, shivered, and turned the pages quickly — when 
'Too Late' opened before her," "Oh, unmerciful disaster 
followed fast and followed faster", she thought, "Too Late" 
and a little half articulate cry passed her lips. She pressed 
her hands before her eyes to shut out that vision 
of birds of ill omen spreading their black wings over the 
storm swept coast. Their hideous screams were in her 
ears, their beaks were in her heart. The blackness of the 
scene overwhelmed her and the words "Too Late" es- 
caped in piteous sob from her pale trembling lips. Her 
pretty head fell backward — but against a warm heart and 
strong arm, shielding her from harm and any chance gaze 
that might happen to stray in their direction. 

"The next picture is That Restless Sea,' dear upon 
which we both have been unduly tossed," George said tak- 
ing her cold limp hand in one of his, while with his other 
lifted the pages of the large folio between their faces and 
the world outside. She slowly opened her mystified eyes 
as her head nestled against her breast. 

"The terrible storm, George, you have saved me!" 

"No, dear, it was the folio. We owe our rescue, both of 
us, to these pictures," which have proven our saving 
corps." 

"George, dear George, it was an eternity — the storm and 
ship wreck." — 

"Only a few minutes by the clock — by the heartaches 
— eayons." 

"It was so terrible. How did you know about coming 
to help me?" she inquired, not quite recovered from the 
brief bewilderment of fainting. 

"When you left me, my eyes followed you here to this 
alcove where under the light I saw how pale and unnatural 
you looked — I thought you were ill, so hastened near you. 
My eyes followed yours over the pictures and also took ac- 
count of the impression they were making with you. I was 
here just at the critical moment you see — just in time to 

"Save me." 

"And myself, sweetheart.'' 



A Ring of Rhymes and Short Stories. 55 



lln tbe Dallei? of pane&en^ 



In the valley of Paneden is a grave. Over the grave 
the boughs of myrtle and magnolia intertwine. 

A story clings about the spot, beautiful and fragrant as 
the pink and white blossoms of the trees. 

A mission of m^ercy had brought the fair-faced nun, 
Eulalie, from the convent walls into the valley where she 
dwelt for a while. 

"Yes, I do love thee, Yoto," she said to a dark, earnest- 
eyed youth who had met her in the new abiding place 
among the whispering pines. 

"I love thee with my heart's deep, faithful love; but I 
must leave thee, my prince, here in the valley." 

"Thou dost love me — ^yes — and in the same breath dost 
tell me thou will leave me here to darkness and despair?" 

"I must go. But will come to thee." 

"Thou art my light, and that is all I ask." 

"This is an earthly passion that will pale before the 
light of which I speak. Farewell now, my best-loved earth- 
ly one." 

"Earthly one! Earthly one? I do not understand. 
Thou speakest as if there were another world — another be- 
ing thou wilt love." 

"There is another world; and in that world another 
being we must love and worship; a Holy One. His al- 
mighty love and sacrifice was taught me long ago; to Him 
I gave my life once in a day agone, a living sacrifice. I 
worship Him with all my soul, and that is why I go. But 
be comforted — thou, too, shalt come! for He hath chosen 
thee — and I shall pray that thou shalt follow soon." 

While she spoke, wonder, love, hatred and despair passed 
in succession over the young man's strong, clear-cut, sun- 
browned features. 

Born and bred among the wilds of nature, his spirit was 
free as the winds that swept the prairies. He had no 
thought of creed, or religion, save as a legend half remem- 
bered, told him by his Indian mother. 



66 A Ring of Rhymes and Short Stories. 

"Thou sayest thou lovest me — and thou knowest that I 
love thee. How canst thou leave me? Thou shalt not 
leave me. Thou speakest in mysteries I do not under- 
stand. This one thing I know — thou shalt not leave me." 

"But in the land beyond the sun, in Paradise, I will wait 
for thee." 

"No; I shall go with thee, the self-same path over hill, 
through valley, thy hand in mine, and thou pointing the 
way, I shall go with thee." 

"Not now; but thou shalt be with me in spirit, my be- 
loved, in the happy path leading on to the glorious monu- 
tains. Soon I must leave thy side; my hand will slip from 
thine. Through the valley of the shadow I must go alone." 

"No, by the mysteries that thou speakest, thou shalt 
not go alone." 

"One will meet me in the valley and take my hand, be- 
loved, and lead me into the light of the blessed kingdom 
beyond the hills." 

"What? Barest thou tell me of another whom thou 
trutseth, who wilt take thee from my life — lead thee to a 
kingdom that I do not know." 

"It is our kingdom, thine and mine, that this Holy One 
has prepared for thee and me. I go first, and thou shalt 
follow, and in that beauteous Paradise of the Father we 
shall dwell forever." 

"The Father! Who is he? I do not know the Father.'' 

"But thou shalt know Him, through His Son. He shall 

meet thee in the valley of the shadow. He that knoweth 

the Son shall know the Father also, and He shall be thy 

Way and Truth and Life." 

"How shall he find me?" How shall I know him I have 
never seen? Who shall send him to me?" 

"The Father, that doth so love thee, hath already sent 
His Son. He knoweth His sheep and is known of them. 
Be not dismayed. Thou shalt have the Comforter who will 
teach thee all things thou must know." 

"Comforter?" Father? Son? Who is this Comforter? 
All is mystery — darkness. I see no light." 

"Not now, but the Light will come. The story shall be 
told again by other lips. Thou wilt learn the lesson. Af- 
ter my life my love shall go forward to the heavenly king- 



A Ring of Rhymes and Short Stories. 67 

dom; this frail body will be laid to rest until a day appoint- 
ed when it shall rise in spiritual beauty." 

From the convent gate, whence the maiden first came to 
the valley of the pines, a funeral train moved slowly 
adown the mountain path to the valley she had loved. 

Tapers shone out in the shrouding gloom, a chant was 
sung, prayers were said, and flowers were strewn over the 
sacred dead. 

Then the mourning train retraced its way back over the 
hills to the convent walls, leaving one watcher by the 
grave in the silence of grief and the night of despair. 



A vine-grown monastery now stands in the valley of 
Paneden, where a grave rests beneath trees of magnolia 
and myrtle. 

A silver-toned bell echoes down through the valley, woo- 
ing the pilgrim to its peaceful shrine. A sun-browned, 
dark-eyed priest reads the prayers, and once in the year 
says mass for the maiden departed. 

On the altar, in season, are placed white magnolia blooms 
and red myrtle blossoms, symbols of love and of sacrifice. 

Solemn pines near the walls chant a perpetual requiem 
over the grave of the dead, and on a slab is engraved the 
simple inscription — 

"EULALIE: 
BELOVED." 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 

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